


One More

by tklivory



Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition - Martin Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Depression, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:57:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Trevelyan and Dorian Pavus have a short conversation through the speaking crystal. Post-Trespasser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More

_“And how are you this morning, Amatus?”_  

Martin smiled as he set the crystal next to the basin of water on the small vanity. “Oh, I’ve seen better.” 

Mornings were a slow affair now. Without the pressing business of morning meetings and daily crises, Martin Trevelyan discovered that he enjoyed lingering in bed - at least until the sun rose high enough to get into his eyes, usually about an hour after sunrise at this time of year. Then he would slowly get up, make his morning tea, and stare out the window, seeing nothing.

One more day. One more week. One more month.

Dorian chuckled.  _“Naturally, since you’ve had mornings where you woke up next to me.”_  The mage sighed a trifle wistfully.  _“Still, you sound better than last week.”_

“Do I?” Martin asked, eyebrow raised. He’d caught the edge of reproach in Dorian’s voice, knowing the mage still didn’t agree with Martin’s strict _one call per week_  rule, even after all this time, though Martin knew Dorian understood precisely _why_ the rule had come into existence. “Perhaps the elfroot is working better this week.”

As the expected sigh echoed from the crystal, Martin reached for the small dagger on the other side of the bowl.  _“You’re not– Amatus, you aren’t–”_  Dorian hesitated, unwilling to voice the matter.

“Lost in another haze?” Martin asked with a chuckle as he looked into the mirror on the vanity and leaned forward, setting the tip of the knife on his cheek. “No. I think I’m done with that.”As he began to work at trimming his beard down to his more familiar stubble, the movements only slightly awkward due to the lack of his left hand, he asked, “How’s Mae? Still terrorizing the Magisterium with your assistance?”

 _“Amatus! I am dismayed you think_ I _am helping_ her, _and not the other way around!”_  Dorian protested. Martin rewarded his attempt at light-heartedness with a soft laugh, and as the knife danced across his face, Dorian told him of all the events in Minrathous, then prodded Martin into telling him about the details of his own day-to-day life, what little there was of it. Throughout the conversation, the tone remained light, with much laughing and _Do you remember when–_ and _Oh, yes, that was quite delightful_  mixed in.

When the last bit of scruff was shorn from his face, Martin carefully set the dagger down and dipped his hand into the water, splashing it onto his face. The stubble, almost his trademark by this point, remained, but the beard of the past week was gone once more.

At the sound of splashing water, Dorian fell silent for a few moments, and Martin could hear his strained breathing. Then he ventured, almost in a whisper,  _“Amatus?”_

“I’m still here,” Martin told him softly.

One more day. One more week. One more month. 

There was a sigh of relief.  _“Yes. Yes, of course you are. And as handsome as the day I first saw you, no doubt.”_

Martin chuckled as he took a towel and wiped at his face. “Perhaps the hair is a _bit_  longer,” he conceded as he carefully put the dagger away, out of sight and out of mind.

Dorian laughed, though this time it sounded a bit forced.  _“As is mine. And I’m still a devilishly handsome fellow.”_ He paused, then said,  _“I need you, Amatus.”_

The smile on Martin’s face dimmed only slightly as he closed his eyes and toyed with a scar at his throat which was mere months in age rather than years. “I know, Dorian. I won’t forget again, I promise.”

 _“Excellent. Until next week, then?”_  The mage sounded cheerful, though Martin knew that _Dorian_ knew that Martin saw right through it. Neither needed to say it out loud, of course.

“Until next week, my love. I should be suitably scruffy by then.” _And the dagger suitably dangerous._ “Give Mae a kiss for me.”

 _“Will you settle for a hug?”_ Dorian inquired, then laughed.  _“I reserve my kisses only for you.”_

Martin smiled. “As you wish. You must have quite a few saved up by now.”

 _“Oh, you have_ no _idea. And don’t think they are only for your_ lips, _Amatus,”_ Dorian informed him with a dark chuckle.

“Oh? Then I’m _definitely_  looking forward to my visit next month.” Martin dropped the towel, then reached out to caress the crystal. “I love you.”

 _“I love you,”_  came the reply, just before the crystal pulsed once and the light faded as the spell became dormant once more.

Martin took the crystal and pulled its chain around his neck again. _No goodbyes. No farewells,_  he’d told Dorian. _If there ever is a need for last words, let them be of love._

For a moment he attempted to pick up the bowl of water, then realized he’d tried to do so with his left hand. Setting his teeth together, he picked it up with his right hand and moved to discard the stubbly mess.

One more day. One more week. One more month.


End file.
